“Then take me to bed, Julian,” I whisper. “Because I want every filthy thing you have left to give.”
He takes my hand and leads me back through the doors into his room. And I follow, knowing that I am marked, claimed, and utterly his, even if it’s only for this one night.
Chapter 4
JULIAN
Iwake to silene…to absence.
That’s the first thing my body registers is the unmistakable wrongness of an empty space beside me. The sheets are cool where her warmth should be. A faint floral scent lingers, but the woman herself is gone.
I sit up sharply, pulse already accelerating.Where’s Iris?
I scan my surroundings automatically. Doors, windows, bathroom, my training kicking in before my brain fully comes online. No signs of forced entry. No disturbance. Just a meticulously undisturbed hotel suite and the imprint of a woman who slipped away without waking me.
I run a hand over my face, jaw tight. I don’t sleep through exits. I don’t miss movement. No one has ever sneaked out of, or sneak up on, my bed unnoticed.
And yet Iris Brooks did.
Which is infuriating. On several levels.
I told her last night would be one night. No expectations. No complications. A clean, mutual agreement sealed by desire and good timing.So why does my chest feel tight?
I swing my legs out of bed and stand, the faint ache in my muscles a reminder I don’t regret the night itself, only herabsence this morning. I scan the suite again, half-expecting her to reappear, hair mussed, mouth sharp with a quip.
Nothing.
I check the time. Early. The city outside the windows is just beginning to stir, light creeping over San Isidro’s skyline in pale gold.
She quietly and deliberately left before dawn.
I should admire that she managed that without waking me, but instead, I’m irritated enough to grind my teeth.
I shower quickly, dress faster, my movements clipped and controlled. I tell myself this is nothing. That I’m annoyed because she caught me off guard. Because I failed to maintain awareness. Not because I want to see her again.
That’s another lie, and I know it. But I’m going to have to stop counting when it comes to this woman because she’s obviously bringing me to the brink of insanity.
The thought of her disappearing into this city without so much as a goodbye twists something sharp in my gut. I need closure, and yes, I know how stupid that sounds after I told her we’d have only one night together.
But with Iris Brooks, I need more than this.
If she’s staying here, she might be at the roof-top restaurant for their breakfast service. Journalists love high vantage points, right?. Open air, a sense of overview. Those are things I like too, plus the food is divine.
I take the stairs two at a time, my growing irritation fueling the pace. By the time I push through the glass doors onto the rooftop terrace, the sun is fully up, bathing the city in light. Yesterday, when I was up here, I found that light warm and beautiful. Today I find it glaring, and it’s giving me a headache.
San Isidro sprawls below, its colonial rooftops and modern high-rises tangled together, and the surrounding jungle pressingin at the edges like it’s reclaiming its territory inch by inch. The air is warm, heavy with the promise of heat and chaos.
And there, near the railing, coffee in hand, that glorious hair with a color I still can’t decide what to name pulled back in a careless knot, is Iris.
Relief hits first. Then annoyance. And then something dangerously close to want.
She’s changed into a turquoise sleeveless linen dress and her sunglasses are jauntily perched on her nose. She’s biting into a big croissant, and even from where I’m standing, I can hear the moan she makes as she enjoys the rich, buttery flavor. It’s the same sound she made in my bed last night.
My cock instantly stands at attention.
As if she feels my gaze, she turns and freezes when she sees me.
A flicker of surprise passes over her face as I walk up to her table. “Good morning,” she says, carefully neutral.
